Those Who Loved Before
by At Loose Ends
Summary: In 1872, two, broken souls shall meet; sparking a romance, kept secret by generations. In 1964, they shall meet again, though, not entirely in the same way, nor as the same people. You see, love has a curious way of returning to those who have lost it. And those who have loved before, shall love once again. Erik/OC


**If you have any questions, queries or ideas for the story, please feel free to PM me or leave a review. Anyway, enjoy everyone ...**

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Phantom of the Opera, nor the plot or characters within it- apart from my own plot and OC's.**

* * *

**August, 1964, **

**Sussex, England.**

Out here was different.

For so long had I been used to the harsh city air: the tang of metal, cigarette smoke and cheap perfume. The same sounds, the same days; all part of a life I found difficult to adjust to.

But not out here,

Where the breeze is cooler and the ceaseless beat of the city life is long behind me. In the winding, loam roads, everything has room to breathe. Though it wasn't the sweet summer air or the local cuisine that brought me out into the open.

My journey had begun with a simple, harmless conversation...

_A friend of mine, Patty Wallis, was hosting a small gathering round her apartment. The woman in question was at the top of her game. Now, in her late thirties she had risen up through the ranks, going from simple secretary to editor in no longer than fifteen years; a true inspiration for working women. _

_The party was rather large for just a small get-together. It was a fair-sized apartment she had, with a balcony that looked out over onto the city streets below; each room was full to the brim with vibrant people, decorations and cocktails. There were a few waiters, dashing around with all sorts of delights upon their trays, while a dozen bottles of the finest champagnes were offered round and poured into every guest's glass; most spilling over and onto the floor. The room was alive with laughter, dancing, music and the buzz of socialites; it was all anyone every came to these parties for- to gossip. However, there are the few, such as myself, who come to enjoy it for the general splendour that it was. Picking up an untouched glass of champagne from the mini bar, I attempted to search for a quieter spot amongst the flocks of babbling figures. Out of luck, I settled for a seat at the bar, unavoidably listening in on the conversations of others._

_An hour of trivial discussions and two more glasses had passed, before I noticed a man across the congregations of people, watching me with notable interest. Redirecting my gaze, I attempted to ignore the uneasy sensations his stare gave me. Though, in all honesty he wasn't bad looking: sable hair, strong jawline with a straight nose and deep, dark, chocolate eyes. What unsettled me the most was that he regarded me with an expression akin to hazy recognition. Searching my brain, I hadn't the faintest who the man was, nor did I recall ever seeing him before the party. Unnerved by his stare, I turned to face the opposite direction, making conversation with the woman next to me; willing myself not to look back._

* * *

_The clock slowly reached midnight; my glass refilled for the fourth time, fifth time … I hadn't the faintest. Faces were beginning to blur at the edges, the chatter sluggish to my ears and the music too piercing to be enjoyed. Deciding it was time to return to the comforts of home, I struggled my way through the sea of party guests, smiling politely at those I unintentionally jostled. Nearing the front door, I finally lay eyes on Patty in blithe conversation with an unfamiliar guest; full flute in one hand, cigarette in the other. Manoeuvring past the open door, I sauntered over to her, to relay my congratulations; my stride not as confident as I hoped. As I grew closer the stranger turned to me, ceasing conversation; familiar molten brown orbs fixed with my own. It took a few seconds for Patty to notice my apparent presence, her expression lightening as she realised who it was,_

"_Enora, darling, why I haven't seen you since you returned from Firenze."_

_Snuffing out her half-smoked cigarette on the nearest ashtray, Patty embraced me like a mother would her child; a squeeze too tight for a person to breathe,_

"_Tell me, Ennie dear, what are you doing these days? Still searching for that overrated thing called love?"_

_She chuckled into her flute as she downed the crystal liquid. Slightly embarrassed by her question, I merely smiled politely. My travels had not been solely in the pursuit of love, but in search of a little inspiration. After being in the publishing business for a while, I longed to write a novel, about romance of course, but after finding myself in lack of such a thing I hoped that, while I sought after my muse, I would find a little amour myself, maybe even fall in love and never wish to return to dreary England and my estranged family._

_Three years of searching left my parents incensed, myself near broke and my novel filled with the harsh words of a woman deprived of love; not the words of a woman in it. The published novel earned me enough money to afford a place back home and gain a decent job to pay for rent and such, but that was where my pursuit of love had ended. At the age of twenty-six, I, Enora Oarsden, had given up on love,_

"_No, Patty, not anymore." My attempted laugh turned out more forlorn then I wanted, but she didn't notice, and for that I was grateful, "Anyway, I'm just here to offer my congratulations. I always knew you'd make a name for yourself someday."_

"_I'm glad someone at least, had faith in me," She chortled, "Well now, don't give up on love so soon, darling…" She gave me a hopeful look, which was really a smile laced with poorly hidden pity, "…or maybe you should. You know, they always say when you stop looking for something, it finds you." She smiles again, "Why, isn't that what you were just telling me, monsieur Ducan?"_

_To my left, the stranger had grown rather quiet during our familiarities. Now that I was closer to him (more intimate then I would have preferred), I could make out his features far better, though all was still a tad fuzzy from the generous amounts of alcohol. My eyes, suddenly unable to adjust to the proximity, caused me to feel a wave of minor nausea, as if I had sat up too quick after lying down for so long. Two sturdy arms reached out to stabilize me as I attempted to gain control of my dizzy spell. Patty gave a light-hearted titter as she observed my half-drunken state,_

"_Dear girl, the champagnes affected you some, has it not?" Shaking her head, she addresses monsieur Ducan in hushes tones, "Would you be a dear and take Miss. Oarsden home with you as you're on your way out, I'd feel better if she were with someone… and, well, I'm all tied up, guests to attend to, and what not?" _

_Giving him an alluring grin and most likely a bat of her eyelashes, the gentleman agreed and expressed his goodbyes whilst still holding me steady. Patty clasped my shoulder, an overly toothy smile widening her face, _

"_You need some rest, Ennie darling. My good friend here is going to drop you off home. Perhaps I'll call you tomorrow and we can maybe have lunch later on this week, hmmm?"_

_In my tipsy state, all I managed to say was, 'Sure, okay', before being guided to the door by the same pair of sturdy arms. I realise something then; Patty didn't have my number._

* * *

_The next thing I remember was being shaken gently, coaxing me out of unconsciousness,_

"_Mademoiselle…"_

_I grumbled,_

"_Mademoiselle … in order for me to take you home, I need to know where you live"_

_Opening my eyes sheepishly, I found myself buckled in the front seat of a car, being roused by its owner. Mortified, my attempt to sit up straight and regain a shred of decency had my head spinning all over again,_

"_I would not move so fast if I were you."_

_I looked up at him, a breathy laugh escaping my lips,_

"_Thanks for the warning"_

_His face, however, stayed void of emotion; preferring to remain statuesque. Awkwardly, and still under the influence, I managed to tell him my address and watched as he twisted the key and started the ignition._

_I lived just on the outskirts of the city, not overly fond of the way everything was cramped and confined in the city streets. The building I reside in was of Victorian origin and rather dilapidated, likely needing a decent paint job, rewiring and probably some new plumbing here and there, but otherwise it was home for me. The people below me were a charming elderly couple, I didn't know their names but they're often visited by their children and grandchildren on the weekends. Upstairs, lives a quiet fellow by the name of Barney Frouth. I can count the number times I've encountered Barney on one hand. In his early twenties, the man seemed to be between jobs at the moment, though what he did and what he does now I haven't the foggiest, but I often see him on the bus heading into the city. _

_I felt at home there._

_The car journey had been relatively quiet so far; no real conversation. In the long moments of silence I watched the passing street lamps in the black of night; comforted by their orange glow. Other times, I studied the man next to me. Now that I had sobered up a bit, I could define the gentleman more accurately. His eyes were of a coffee colour rather than dark chocolate, his hair near the same; a luscious midnight brown. It was also longer than I had observed previously, the length around his earlobe, and curled at the ends. His face was more aged up close, yet still handsome, with few wrinkles creasing his eyes, thick eyebrows, defined lips, a few grey hairs; I guessed his age to be around early to mid-thirties._

_Far too caught up in my observations, I didn't notice his gaze wander from the road. Not until his eyes found mine, did I realise how inappropriate my staring must have been,_

"_Sorry, umm, I was just- er, well you see, I was, umm…"_

_He looked away again; uninterested in my flustered sate. However I swore that, in the darkness, I saw the corners of his mouth curl upwards. __In my awkwardness, I began fiddling with the leather belt on my tangerine cocktail dress; the colour becoming more vivid when illuminated by the passing light. Time seemed to lengthen; all the while I pondered on how to strike up a conversation with the stranger beside me. The best I could settle on was,_

"_So… do you know Patty well?"_

_He didn't reply, so I ensued,_

"_She said you were a good friend of hers, so I assume tha-"_

"_We're business associates"_

"_Oh…"_

_There was hush once more. I looked down at my dress again, unsure of what to do or say. The moment reminded me of my childhood; years spent sitting at a mute dinner table. With a workaholic father and an often absent mother, I was self-sufficient from an early age; growing up with no real attachments to anything- neither my family nor my home. I remembered being so lost, as if wading through murky waters with no shore to swim back to. Shifting my eyes back to the road, I realised that I had always though myself to be an independent person, now I understood that it had been a lie all along; _

_I wasn't solitary, I was alone._

_Something dropped onto my lap; the feel of wetness seeping into my dress,_

"_Mademoiselle, are you well?"_

_Quickly rubbing away all traces of the bitter tear, I turned to face the gentleman,_

"_Y-yes, yes, I'm fine, just peachy in fact"_

_Blaming the alcohol for my messy emotions, I endeavoured to form a smile but all that graced my face was a hopeless twitch of the lips and a long breathy sigh,_

"_You want the truth?"_

_Diverting his eyes from the road once more, they regarded my own with great integrity; I sensed this man valued honesty, _

"_Oui"_

_I breathed in,_

"_I fear that if I passed me in the street, I wouldn't even recognise myself." I watched another car go by from the window, "I've been searching all my life for one thing, I seem to have lost myself in the process and I thought that- finding that thing, would bring me back." I faced him once more, observing his hard features as he concentrated on the road ahead, "But, now… I'm not so sure…"_

_He remained silent, and just when I thought I'd been foolish; confiding in a complete stranger, he says,_

"_It is love you speak of, is it not? This 'thing' you talk about."_

_The question surprised me, no matter how plain the answer was,_

"_Yes, it's love"_

_He observed me once more,_

"_Not until we are truly lost, can we understand ourselves." He pointed to the name of my street and I nodded in that direction, "My mother once told me that love isn't something you find, it is something that finds you."_

_Reaching the end of the street, the car stopped just outside my apartment building. I turned to monsieur Ducan, "Your mother sounds like a well-versed woman." I gave him a soft smile, "Any more words of advice before we part ways?"_

_He didn't say anything. Instead, he leaned over to my side and opened up a compartment in the car; rummaging around for something important, it seemed. I could see his expression loosen when he found what he was looking for. Twisting back round he held in his hand a pen and paper; scribbling down something too quick for me to read. Once finished, he handed the slip to me. On it, a name and address,_

"_Eema Ducan, that's my mother's name and underneath is her current residence" He closed his hands over mine, containing the valuable piece of paper,_

"_Go; visit her. She will make you believe again."_

_And there was something- something in his eyes that told me… maybe she could._

* * *

It had been a week since I had encountered the monsieur. The troublesome slip of paper had waited upon my desk for days, until I had finally plucked up enough nerve to take his advice, venturing out into the British landscape to see a woman who could, perhaps, rid my heart of its sorrows. And for the first time in a long time, I felt like I was doing something worthy;important.

So here I am.

Lazily roaming down the open, dirt roads; the windows down, the wind caught up in my wild, auburn hair and all the smells of summer invading my senses. In time, I hit a partial clearing in the road, the paths diverging; branching out two separate ways. To the left, a greening, copper placard upon a piece of fencing, the name, 'Ducan' engraved in fading, elegant scripture.

This was the place.

* * *

The heavens had opened by the time I reached the driveway. Though the rain wasn't heavy, it was certainly enough to soak you through in time and give you a nasty cold afterwards. The house itself was not as grand as I had anticipated; merely a quaint cottage; thatched roof, wood burning stove, half the house wrapped in ivy. All was kept in good condition, so too was the surrounding garden; it was not at all what I had been expecting. From the way the monsieur had acted and dressed at the party, he gave off the impression that he had come from a wealthy family; perhaps I was wrong.

Rolling up the windows, I hoisted my burgundy jacket over my head; protecting what little of myself I could from the rain, as I darted across the pebbled drive. The crunch of my heels against the stone was lost in the continuous downpour. The rain rolling down the thatch created a cataract, flowing off the cover of the front door. Passing under it, I shook off my jacket, draped it over my arm and rang the doorbell;

No answer.

No one's home,

Or so it seemed.

Above the easing rain, I could hear the sound of aged, creaking floorboards; shuffling feet upon wood. No long after, the lock upon the door clicked and the handle flicked down, revealing an older woman; bobbed silver hair, charming smile and the same mocha coloured eyes as her sons,

"Désolé, mon cher, I did not seem to hear the doorbell go. Can I help you with anything?"

I smiled politely,

"Oui, er, yes, I mean, I do believe you can." I cleared my throat, "You see, your son was the one who told me to come see you; said you could help me out with a, err, slight problem I have."

She looked me over; eyes wide,

"Chère fille, I do not know what my son has told you, but I no longer practice midwifery." I frowned, "However, I can recommend a few practices to you. Some of the staff may still remember me, mais c'était il ya longtemps- it was a long time ago, my dear."

"I'm sorry, I don't understand?"

She sighed,

"Votre problem, chère fille … your pregnancy; l'enfant." Her hands reached out for mine, taking them delicately into her own, "It is alright, there is no need to be ashamed."

Utterly confused, my face flushed a deep scarlet once I finally understood her misinterpretation of my 'slight problem'. And judging by the rather alarmed expression she had held, she'd obviously not had many encounters such as this. Trying my hardest to calm my reddened face, I thought it best to explain myself, before I caused any further embarrassment,

"Oh no, Mrs Ducan, you see, I'm not pregnant." I removed her hands from mine; though she still seemed unconvinced, "Truly, I'm not." smiling sympathetically, I continued, "Your son told me to come here because he said… well, he said that you could make me believe in love again."

She bore a certain gleam in her eyes after I told her this; her face brightening, a small laugh bubbling forth from her lips,

"Mon petit Erik…" she shook her head in mild amusement; a warm smile settled upon her wrinkled cheeks, "that boy likes his stories far too much"

"Pardon?"

"My son Erik, the one who sent you here, he wishes for me to tell you the story; the one I would tell him of as a boy"

My brows furrowed,

"Like a fairy-tale?"

She waved her hand,

"Non. Less of a fairy-tale and more of a love story"

"About whom, may I ask?"

Stepping aside, she motioned for me to enter the house. Following behind, one hand on my shoulder, she replied,

"Le Fantôme de l'Opéra"

* * *

_French translations:_

_Désolé, mon cher- Sorry, my dear_

_Chère fille- Dear girl_

_mais c'était il ya longtemps- But it was a long time ago_

_Votre problem- Your problem_

_L'Enfant- the child_

_Mon petit Erik- My little Erik_

_Le Fantôme de l'Opéra- The Phantom of the Opera (...like you didn't know already)_

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**_Authors note:_**

**_If your reading this chapter and thinking, 'Why isn't it 1870?' and 'Where is the Phantom?' Fear Not! all will be explain! And he shall make his debut in the next chapter. So, for all you diehard fans out there, you won't have to wait long._**


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